The voices fade. Footsteps retreat.
I step back from the door, heart pounding. Something’s wrong. Something’s changed.
Ten minutes later, the lock clicks.
Leone enters, and he’s not alone. Two guards flank him, faces grim. He’s changed clothes… dark tactical gear instead of the suit, a gun holstered at his hip.
“Get up,” he says. “We’re moving.”
“Moving where?”
“Somewhere safer.”
“Safer from what?”
He crosses the room in three strides and takes my arm, not rough, but firm. “Renzo talked. The Castillo’s know where you are. They’re coming.”
The words hit me like ice water. “Coming for me?”
“Coming for the compound. You’re a bonus.” He steers me toward the door. “We have twenty minutes before they hit us. I need you to trust me.”
“I don’t—”
“Alexandra.” He stops, turns to face me. His eyes are dark and intense, boring into mine. “I will not let them take you. I will kill every man who tries. But I need you to move. Now.”
I stare at him. The guards behind us are shifting, anxious, hands on their weapons.
Twenty minutes. Castillo’s are coming. And Leone is looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay. Let’s go.”
He nods once, sharp, and pulls me into the hallway.
The compound is chaos. Soldiers running, orders being shouted, the distant wail of alarms. Leone moves through it like water, his grip on my arm never loosening. The guards follow close behind, covering our backs.
We descend two floors, then three. The architecture changes. Less luxury, more concrete. We’re going underground.
“Where are we going?” I ask, voice breathless.
“Panic room. Reinforced walls, independent air supply, enough supplies for a week.” He pulls me around a corner. “You’ll be safe there.”
“What about you?”
He doesn’t answer.
We reach a heavy steel door, and Leone punches a code into the keypad. The lock disengages with a heavythunk. He pushes me inside—a small room, twelve by twelve, stocked with water and food and a narrow cot.
“Stay here,” he says. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me. If anyone gets in that isn’t me, shoot them.” He hands me a gun.
“Leone—”
“Anyone but me. Understand?”
I grab his arm before he can turn away. “What are you going to do?”
His eyes meet mine. For a second, he looks almost human.
“What I always do,” he says. “Whatever’s necessary.”
